Bite Me
by Ienyu
Summary: Shiro was just your average boy with peeking teenage hormones. Then there was Ichigo. He on the other hand had looks, personality, oh- and amnesia. Not to mention the fangs, a thirst for blood, and the whole thing with already having a mate. A possessive one at that. HichixIchi AU.
1. Tear Out My Insides (I)

Bite Me

A/N: Before starting things off, I want to point out that this fanfiction takes place in Romania. Because it can ;) Also, this is a revision of the previous chapter. I decided a little more back story was needed to lead into the second chapter, which, by the way, I already had written! Score one for being prepared!

Lastly, like always, if you see any spelling and or grammatical errors, please _message _me! Even though I re-read these buggers and even_ sing_the words like some crazy musical drop-out, I still sometimes miss obvious things.

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Humid August air caressed his face and gently tussled snowy white hair, blowing the chunky spikes in every direction. The air was thick that evening and ominous clouds hung threateningly in the sky as low rumbles echoed through the hills. He had to hurry- a particularly fierce thunderstorm was to occur that evening, and anyone who's anyone knew that being out in the open during a storm was like sticking your head in a very active wasps nest. Just for fun. Only real dickheads and badasses would parade around in weather such as this until the storm would hit, and even though the pale-skinned teen prided himself as the self-proclaimed 'Badest Ass of Them All', he still wanted to high tail it out of there as soon as possible. Not because he was scared or anything.

With the shifting sound of gravel and grass under his feet, he swiftly maneuvered his way through rows of sepulchers and gravestones, searching for the back path of the necropolis. Past yet another row of tombstones, these being more decrepit and crumbling than those proceeding, he finally came to the clearing he was looking for and took it.

It was an all too familiar layout to him; the year-long bare trees that cast broken, tenebrous shadows upon his skin with their sinewy branches. The smell of stone and rain. That perpetual, creeping feeling of being watched.

Slowing his power walk to a sluggish stride, he narrowed black and golden eyes as irritation from the age-old question began to set.

Why the hell was he even here?

Despite what anyone else thought, Shiro had a lot better things to do than dwindle in a place like this, yet here he was again. It was masochistic of him, but he couldn't stop. He had to go- to see them.

Wild yellow eyes dulled as memories of the past flooded his mind that he normally tried to keep at bay. He was better off now; he didn't need memories that only weighed him down. Yet at times, they snaked their way back regardless. Those two people … his parents… they wanted nothing to do with him from the start. He was the blemish on their appearance, and they sure as hell weren't shy about letting him know it while at home, away from the eye of the public. That is, if they even bothered to even spare him a glance. The pain, as bad as it was, was never physical. However, it may as well have been. It wasn't until he was seven did his life do a one-eighty from this.

It was November, and school had just let out like any other day. Due to the weather, the school board had claimed it to be too dangerous for buses to drive children home that day. Instead, they had phoned parents earlier to pick up their kids at the end of the day. Unsurprisingly his never showed, and the little saffron-eyed child ventured home in the cold by himself.

Closing the door with an audible click, he wasn't surprised to find neither his parents' home. His father worked as a CEO of a company and his mom was a very successful real estate agent. Both were much respected in the fields of their work and often worked late or went out with their friends afterwards, leaving their son to fend until they returned. After tentatively removing his boots, mindful not to get any outside residue on the floor that may have clung to the bottom of them; he immediately retreated into his room.

Time went by. As the hour hand on the clock crept towards ten with still no sign of his parent's return, the young boy began to get antsy and quite hungry; as signaled by the audible growl from his stomach. He poked his head out the door for any indication that perhaps his parents had returned without him realizing it. The house was empty. With a sigh, he was just about to retreat into his room again when there was a loud thud at the door followed by a muffled, yet audible clank on the wooden floor. Curiosity piping, he hesitantly left the enclosure of his room and began his descent down the stairs. Eyes widened in surprise. There, at the very bottom of the staircase was a plate of two molded triangles of rice, beside it an empty plastic bag from the local convenience store.

The warmth radiating off the warm clusters of rice enticed him to pick one up quickly, savoring the heat it provided as he took a hearty bite. Hungrily, he quickly finished off the first and just as quickly the second, leaving him to lick off left-over grains still sticking to his fingers. One satisfied, he picked up the plate and headed for the kitchen to put the dish in the sink, assuming the donors of his 320-calorie dinner had been his parents who had in fact returned after all. However, like the rest of the house, the kitchen was empty.

More time and more waiting with still no sign of his parents return despite the changes in day. Even so, Shiro lived life as he always did. He would walk to school, ignoring the looks he would get as he braved the streets alone early in the morning. When he would return home after each day, he would carry himself to his room and do whatever work he may have had to do. Then, later into the evening, the familiar clank of a plate downstairs would alert him of that day's meal. Never had it occurred to him to wonder where all the food had been coming from. One night while biting into that night's dinner, he humored himself thinking that maybe it was some sort of convenience-store fairy. He knew otherwise of course, creatures like that didn't exist.

One afternoon while walking home, however, was different from the others. Trudging down the streets, careful to keep away from the road, he almost fell down with a start when a large silver car pulled up onto the sidewalk next to him. What had frightened him even more was when a sickly-looking man dashed out of the driver's seat and enveloped him in a hug that betrayed his weak appearance.

The frail-looking man apologized for the sudden contact when he felt the boy stiffen and cringe in the embrace. Coughing before finally composing himself, the older man explained to the younger who he was along with the fact that both his mother and father had gotten into an accident four days ago and from that day forward he would be taking care of him.

Ever since, the golden-eyed teen would find himself wandering into the cemetery as if being drawn in. Perhaps subconsciously he believed that visiting the victims would eventually release him from their frozen hold. Alternatively, maybe it was voodoo magic being performed beyond the grave as a way for the undead to lure him in and eat his flesh.

Raising the head that he unconsciously hung, he instantaneously become aware of a particularly vivid clump of ginger peeking out from behind the monument that marked the resting place- a pedestal of black granite where an iron stallion stood high, rearing on its hind legs. Normally during his trips to the cemetery, he wouldn't have gone any farther than where he stood. As he unconsciously drew closer, he steadily began to strain his neck around the corner to get a better view of what could be possibly producing such a color, eyes widening in surprise at what he saw.

Now to be frank, Shiro absolutely loathed those storybook scenarios publishers loved to load into their whimsical tales of sappy nonsense. In spite of this, he soon found himself getting lost in the stranger's warm honey-brown eyes anyways; a moment he could only describe as hauntingly breathtaking. Even from the distance, he could clearly see how exotic they were, smooth amber flecked with gold, which seemed to beckon him forward like an oasis mirage would a desert traveler.

A weird sort of heat began to pool in his stomach as his eyes absorbed every aspect of the stranger, who, sitting on the ground with his head tilted up, looked frighteningly similar to him.

The mass of orange Shiro had seen before turned out to be his hair, short and a little unruly. His body was lean and blemish free, covered with firm, supple skin that seemed to possess an unearthly glow. Clad in all black, a black collar that fastened together by a large silver buckle hung loosely around his neck.

The stranger must have caught him staring, because an ill at ease look soon graced his face. The paler of the two to turned away in embarrassment, and… hold on. Was he blushing? Suddenly the air around him seemed to get even hotter as everything began to sway.

Trying to regain composure, Shiro hastily slid down to the ground against his own side of the pedestal, completely caught off guard when a voice called out to him, asking for the time. He responded quickly, ("A-around eight…") not yet trusting the steadiness of his reply as the heat gradually lessened before eventually dissipating as if it was never there to begin with. Placing a hand over his steadying chest, he grimaced in confusion to his own body's odd reaction.

"Oh. And, do you by any chance know where we are?"

Slim white eyebrows knit together in question. "You... don't know where this is?"

"No, truthfully I don't even remember how I got here." The other admitted.

And then the gears began to turn. Perhaps he had been at some party, had drunk himself stupid, and then ended up bumbling here before crumbling to inebriation, Shiro thought. Alternatively, maybe in fact it _had_been the work of dark thaumaturgy luring supple young people to their untimely doom.

"This is the Tijă de Fier Necropola. And this-" The alabaster teen said, twisting his abdomen slightly to the right so he could pat the stallion lightly on the side, "is my parents grave."

Taken aback, the orange haired teen immediately pushed away from the monument and looked apologetically to the albino. "I…"

The alabaster teen shook his head. "It's fine. There dead, they can't complain." The other sat back down, but remained tense, fingering with the fabric of his collar.

Being the ever-so curious one, Shiro already had about fifty questions he wanted to throw at the stranger. What was his name? How old was he? Where exactly was he from? How did he wind up here of all places? Was he single- wait no, not that one. Okay maybe he was slightly curious about that too. All these questions and more rattled in his mind like coins in a can, and unintentionally the first three poured out of his mouth in a jumbled heap or barely legible sentences.

Despite the simple questions, the other seemed almost to struggle with finding answers. After mumbling quietly to himself however, Shiro was slightly bothered to find out the black-clad teen only seemed to know his name.

Ichigo Kurosaki.

He wanted to continue to try to press for more information out of Ichigo, but the other seemed only to withdraw into himself with each question. Rather than interrogate Ichigo to death, he decided to listen.

Back and forth, they conversed as both slowly and steadily began to inch closer to one another, stopping when their hands accidentally brushed against each other. Now that was embarrassing. All the same, they kept chatting nonetheless. Everything Ichigo said Shiro would pick at in his mind, trying to decipher any hidden clues that could possibly answer any of his questions. He hated not understanding things, unless it was algebra. He hated algebra and didn't want to deal with its problems.

Checking the sky, he let out a disgruntled sigh. The dipping sun signaled it was getting later than he had planned for and he had to return soon- least he give his uncle an ulcer from distress. In addition, the clouds above where looking quite hazardous now, even more so than when he had first arrived.

"You got quiet all the sudden. Everything alright?"

Saffron eyes turned to the possible amnesiac he had only meet today and would now have to leave.

"I'm fine, but my uncle might get worried if I'm not home soon."

"Oh, well you shouldn't keep him waiting." Ichigo smiled chastely, making the albino's chest clench. Something told him that if he left now, this would be the last time he would ever see Ichigo again. He panicked at this, which surprised him.

"Hey, you sure you're ok?" Ichigo's harmonious voice asked, bringing the albino from his thoughts.

"Uh, yeah." He smiled in reassurance. "I'm fine."

As soon as those words left his mouth, a particularly thunderous clap of white light flashed in the distance, making both teens flinch and move just a tad closer to each other.

"Shit." He cursed under his breath. "It started sooner than I expected."

"What started?"

"Today's storm… looks pretty bad too." Shiro stated, noticing how the other beside him paled as another eruption of electricity lit up the sky. Suddenly, and idea hit him. Normally that would frighten others, but this was a good idea that would benefit the both of them. He felt a little foolish; like a child who was too nervous to ask and had to beat around the bush, but his pride was swallowed as he spun his web- putting on what he imagined an act that couldn't fool a grade-schooler.

"Hey, did you know Craiova has some of the worst storms in the country? Deadly bastards they are; killed over thirty people this past year." He lied, fixing his expression to one of oncoming doom as he slowly turned to Ichigo. Truthfully, no one had ever died, but a good handful had been struck and miraculously lived to tell the tale- a tale that usually started with 'It hurt like a bitch, but worse.'

Ichigo's previously lax arms went crossed and ridged, his eyes deliberately evading the horizon as another crack of light split the sky. It was clear to Shiro the other was getting increasingly nervous and felt a slight pang of guilt, but what was started had to be finished.

"We really shouldn't be outside right now; it's going to get pretty dangerous. You got a place to stay? I'll walk you back."

"Well, no. I don-"

"That's no good… hey I know!" He cut off with fake realization. "How about you crash at my house until the storm stops? It's not too far, and uncle loves company."

A gleam of relief momentarily filled Ichigo's features before dulling to uncertainty. "But I'm just a stranger. Are you sure it's ok?"

"Duh," He rolled his eyes and stood up. "-and you're no stranger, you're Ichigo." He stated as if it were the most obvious thing, ending with a smile that could melt all the snow off the Himalayas.

"Well okay, as long as it's alright with you."

"Awesome." Shiro beamed, dropping his thousand-watt grin down a few hundred as he pulled the other to his feet. He was glad Ichigo had agreed, albeit nervously. He had felt a face twitch coming on. At least if Ichigo really had forgotten almost everything save for his name, he wouldn't have been able to poke at Shiro for his terrible acting that couldn't even convince an amnesiac- because it just did.


	2. This Plague Runs My Life (II)

Bite Me II

A/N: Oh sweet Dolorosa, I thought I had a lot more of this written than I thought. One thousand more words she said. It won't be hard she said. –face twitch- And what is this. Internet connection is not working? Curses! I meant to post this late on the thirteenth, but unfortunately that can no longer happen.

So here I am NOW on the 16th. Sorry if there are any errors, if there are some and they are not fixed within the week, please _message_ me! And remember, if you love me, review! Me love you long time!

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It didn't take long to reach his house. Halfway there however, a light shower suddenly turned torrential, promptly soaking through their clothes to the bone. Despite trying to remain ebullient -sharing pieces of conversation on the way, Shiro strained not to look into the other's molten eyes again. Something about that first eye-lock seemed to reach into him, drawing him closer like a moth to an incredibly brilliant flame. Yet even though his mind longed to behold such a sight again, he held himself back. Like a real fire, getting to close would only get you burned.

With the setting sun now long gone and the moon veiled over by rolling thunderheads, the only sources of light available to the two were the flickering street lights and the frequent bursts of lightning outside the storms eye. Even with less than optimal light source, finding his small apartment among the rest thankfully wasn't too much of a challenge as they sprinted along rows of lengthy brick buildings. Fumbling briefly with the brass handle-the damn thing had a tendency to get stuck, he quickly pushed the thick wood door open and ushered Ichigo inside the much warmer and drier area.

The entire house was dark, and fumbling for the light switch, it seemed as though the other two occupants had retired to their rooms for the night. Small but quaint and with an open floor plan, almost all of the rooms were clearly visible even from the front door- save for the three bedrooms, which were just down the hall. History of the house's years hung on the walls, stained the wood floors, and were scattered across the space in the form of small baubles to pieces of furniture of sentimental value. Though a little worn around the edges, it provided a warm feeling that radiated and practically bathed the house in a pale gold light. However once the alabaster teen had left to retrieve them both dry clothes, ("We're about the same size, so I think I'll have something for you."), Ichigo immediately stiffened. Having had been left to his own devices for the moment, he began to feel different.

Unable to sit still, the amnesiac's eyes wandered all over the walls, examining every bump, every groove. His leg bounced as he jiggled it up and down. His hands writhed in anxiety. In a dizzying cycle, the room seemed to switch between expanding to a point of disorientation to abruptly contracting as if the plaster walls aimed to crush him- an insect that didn't belong.

A warm darkness draped itself over his head, shrouding his sight. He pulled at the material frantically, throwing the white towel, still warm from the dryer, off his head to the floor. An equally warm and white being watched him with a bemused look on his face, his own towel hung around his neck.

"Sorry, I was spacing out…" Ichigo said lamely. It was partially true anyways.

"Er, it's cool." Shiro said, picking the towel up and handing it back to Ichigo who copied him; placing it around the back of his neck as well. "Uh, here are the clothes."

Handing the bundle to the other, he pointed to the bathroom, a door beside the kitchenette, where Ichigo could change. Pulling a chair out from under the table brashly, old wooden legs screeching against the floor in protest, he unceremoniously slumped down and watched the closed bathroom door with a curious eye. Questions still floated about his mind about Ichigo, but he figured a majority of them would have to wait. He pursed his lips in thought. Well he knew one thing for sure- Ichigo was...different, but in a way he couldn't exactly pinpoint. It was just a gut feeling, but he decided at that point to let the thought incubate to see what would hatch later down the road.

A torrent of light streamed from the bathroom door as it was opened, Ichigo emerging in Shiro's ripped jeans and second favorite band tee. As he thought, they were about the same size; however it appeared that Ichigo had a slightly longer torso, as bit of his midriff could be seen.

Taking a seat opposite the other, the two sat in an oddly unnerving silence, the only sound coming from an old kitschy clock that hung on the wall of what Shiro's uncle claimed to be a tanuki; its large eyes shifting left to right with every swish of its mechanical tail. Occasionally, one would sneak a peek at the other while the other wasn't looking, then quickly divert their gaze. It was a vicious cycle, and a very awkward one at that; neither able to break the film of ice that seemed to have manifested.

The boisterous albino couldn't even bring himself to make a sarcastic remark about something or other; a skill he could brag about having no trouble at all using to air out even the most desolate of social exchanges. This case however, seemed different. Despite how much he wanted to further interrogate the other, even if to somehow jog Ichigo's memory, words seemed to be at a loss to him. Both were tongue-tied; not knowing what to say, nor willing to be the first to break the silence in fear of creating an even more awkward situation.

It was practically a catharsis to the two when the dark hallway lit up in a poor yellow glow and into the room, a child, groggy from sleep, came into view and broke the silence. To the saffron-eyed male, it was the equivalent to being in a group of total strangers at a party, and suddenly seeing someone you actually knew and could freely talk to. He made a quick mental note to buy the other a box of watermelon gushers. Because gushers are boss and anyone who's anyone liked them, even if they did rot your teeth to the core. He himself preferred the blue raspberry flavored pieces, but that was going on tangent.

"The hell were you?" He slurred through exhaustion, teal eyes hazed yet still piercing. "Get to bed you delinquent."

Ah, ever the cankerous midget his cousin was, but-

"That's awfully big talk for someone so small."

"On second thought, go outside and get stuck by lightning."

"Awe, that's so mean Toshiro. If I die, who will reach things on the top shelf for you?"

"It's Hitsugaya to you! And for your information, I can do that perfectly well on my own."

"Yeah, with a stool." He just couldn't help but rile up the younger of two years.

"I swear-" Toshiro seethed. "-one day I'm going to smother you with a..."

His voice trailed off, suddenly taking notice of the other occupant across the table. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand and blinked a few times. "...What sort of twisted nightmare is this? Why are there two Shiros' sitting at the table…"

"Nope, I'm still the one and only. This is Ichigo, found'em outside; he doesn't have rabies and is potty trained, so can we keep him?"

The younger stuttered for a minute, the gears of his mind turning in overdrive as he furiously processed what Shiro had told him. "What I... I mean- of course we can't _keep_ him. What were you thinking? Picking up a stranger and bringing them back here of all places…you undoubtedly dragged him here without his consent; his parents are probably worried sick with him missing in this weather, you moron!"

"Whoa there, no need to raise that already high blood pressure." Shiro waved off dismissively, paying no heed to his cousin's ramblings. "Why don't you have a juice box or something?"

"You're not taking this seriously are you?" His brow twitched furiously at his cousin's insolence. "You… You can't just bring home people freely like this, you know. You're cause a lot of trouble for us all when you keep doing this sort of thoughtless thing Shirosaki!"

Silent throughout the repartee between the two white-haired relatives, Ichigo pursed his lips in solemn agreement with the little one's statement. From the start he had felt extremely antsy, and the feeling had only increased with every passing second he remained. At this point, it had begun to feel as if large stone slabs were being placed one after another atop his body. It was on the verge of becoming more than uncomfortable, and with the addition of possibly bringing trouble to Shiro, who had helped him, a complete stranger; perhaps leaving was for the best. Yet… a conflicting part of him, as selfish as the thought was, wished he could have stayed just a little longer.

"Thoughtless? How the-"

"No I think he's right Shiro." Ichigo interrupted, surprising both when he finally spoke up.

"But… where will you go?"

"I can manage." He forced, looking up questioningly when the younger of the two relatives handed him a clunky off-white object that hummed monotonously from one end. ("Here-" Toshiro said, "Call your family, and I'm sorry if you got pulled into my idiotic cousin's charades.") Examining the foreign object, he fiddled around with it, turning it about in his hands and running his eyes over the smooth arch of the plastic handle and the multiple square buttons, some of which were labeled with numbers. Pressing one of the buttons cautiously, he practically dropped the object when it emitted a loud 'beep' in response. Maybe he had angered the strange contraption by entering the wrong code into its dialing mechanism? He tried again with a variety of buttons, actually dropping the object when a barrage of irate beeps procured from the device, saved by the last minute by Toshiro from clattering into the floor.

Exasperated, the other sighed. "If you didn't know your phone number you could have just said so."

"O-oh hey, I think I hear uncle waking up, Toshiro. Let's help him out of bed!" Shiro blurted particularly loudly, grabbing the other and pulling him away into the hallway and out of sight despite the cry of protest and punch to his gullet.

"What the fuck are you trying to pull here? You're acting really weird, more so than usual. And fuck, let go of me!" Toshiro huffed irately, pushing away and brushing himself off as if the grip had left cooties.

"Listen, I know this is going to sound ridiculous and really stupid-"

"No surprise there."

"Shut up, let me finish. I swear this is different than from before with you-know-who; it's just that I seriously found him just sitting there at my parent's grave and-"

Toshiro gripped at his thick white hair is frustration. "You found him where? You don't know what kind of people hang out there! He could be dangerous!"

"Ah, ah, ah, you're not letting me finish." He castigated the shorter boy once again. "Yes I found him there, but when I questioned him like a Good Samaritan, you know the ABC's and all that, all he ended up remembering was his name. Come on Toshie, he didn't have a place to go, and I couldn't just leave him."

"So, basically you brought home a stranger."

"No! I mean yes, but- oh come on. Show some kindness in that icy little heart of yours."

Growling in vexation, the smaller teen crossly flicked his wrist in abandon. "You know what. It's too early to deal with this crap right now."

"So? So? So does that mean he can stay?" Shiro asked, lightly grinding the others side with his elbow.

"I don't care. You deal with uncle in the morning. I'm out."

Cue the noise makers and piñata.

Sliding back out into the main room, the albino was relieved to find that Ichigo had not yet left. Rather, the other male was sitting cross-legged on the floor staring intently at the telephone he had in his hand in awe. In some visceral way, it was a pretty adorable sight; like a little baby buffalo rolling about in the prairie. Not that Ichigo looked even remotely like a buffalo, but you got the idea.

Looking up from the magical noise-making box, Ichigo eyed Shiro leaning against the wall and sheepishly put the phone back down.

"Oh, uh… I was just leaving and-"

"Nah, it's okay. Frosty has given you his approval. Now we can get married and have tons of kids."

Seeing the confused look on the others face, he waved his last comment off. ("It was a joke, Ichi.")

Checking the clock, he huffed inwardly when he couldn't read it. He really did hate that stupid raccoon- excuse him, _tanuki_ clock. There wasn't even any numbers on it, just pictures of acorns. How the hell was someone supposed to tell the time when all there was were acorns? He may as well have strapped an acorn to his wrist with a piece of floss and called it a watch.

Simultaneously, the look-alikes yawned.

Covering his mouth with the back of his hand, Shiro laughed. "Feeling a bit tired too? Come on, you can take my bed. I'll sleep on the couch."

Helping the ocher-eyed male off the floor and down the hallway, he pushed open the door to the right and let Ichigo look around. Inside and adjacent to the door was a twin bed, nightstand to the left of it. Kitty-cornered in the right of the room was a tall rod bookshelf covered in stickers with a metal standing lamp beside it. A television was hooked up atop one of its shelves, an old gaming system beside it. In the very middle of the small room sat a small mountain of discarded clothes that Ichigo minded to step around as he went to sit upon the bed. As he sat, the springs adjusted with a soft 'sprong'.

"If you need anything, it won't be hard to find me. I'll be the bum on the couch." He added, closing the door with an audible click. "Sleep tight."

Sitting upright on the side of the bed shrouded in darkness, the orange-haired teen did not 'sleep tight' or sleep at all for that matter. Rather, he listened. He listened to Shiro's footsteps as he softly padded his way to the couch. To the sound of the other trying to get comfortable on what he imagined to be quite the uncomfortable arrangement. To the rhythmic respiration as the pale teen slipped into slumber.

Placing a hand on his neck, Ichigo absentmindedly rubbed the rough material of his restrictor.

He hadn't realized it, but once his presence had been accepted in the house by the short one in addition to the white one, a great deal of pressure had been lifted from his personnel. Unlike before, he felt much more at ease sitting in this sanctuary of sacred family-bonds.

Pupils dilating to thin slits, he hummed in pleasure at the feeling of freedom from the invisible chains that once restricted his movement, the burning anxiety free from his body.

At that instant, if by some unfortunate chance someone were crack the shut door and look into the room, golden eyes of a predator would hungrily look their way.

And they would be no more.


	3. His Fangs Were so Deep (III)

Bite Me

A/N: How's Ichigo's other persona carrying? Oh, and see what I did there with Shiro's family? xD Beforehand, I would like to apologize for the late post and the possible style-changes I may have adapted for this chapter- I've been reading the Scarlet Letter, you see. That book does things to your head.

I'd _also_ like to say beforehand that this chapter really iced my cake! I had an unbelievably difficult time writing this, and I think it showed. You can bet your pine cones I'll be making adjustments somewhere down the line!

Dormition of Theotokos- a fast of meats and dairy products, oil, and wine. It lasts 15 or so days.

Sângerete- also known as blood pudding, it is the name for 'blood sausage' in Romania and is made from pork blood and a variety of other meat cuts.

Again, (wow I don't know when to shut up) if there are any mistakes or if there are any questions, please _MESSAGE _me! I don't bite the hand that feeds :3 Cause you know, reviews are delicious. And they make lazy authors start chapter four earlier.

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_Double-taking, he stared incredulously about him as he took a few steps back. A crisp chill held fast in the air, the kind that lightly frosts a morning's dew, and he shivered involuntarily, arms coiling closer around his torso for warmth._

_All around him, thick trees sprouted from mineral-latent loam. No two-tree appeared quite the same. Each crevice and split in their earthen bark was unique and carved out each being; age-worn faces smiling at him with saddened expressions. Mist that had once gently hazed its weaving coils of condensation now thickly cloaked the ground, dressing the ancient trees in robes that presented them in some form of untouched majesty- and in a flash of illusion; it felt as if he were standing before the scribes of eternity rather than a bunch of trees, their gazes set grim upon him. It was eerie how he could feel the melancholy of this forest. It was unavoidable, and affected him in a way he honestly could say he never thought possible, from trees no less._

_Sadness. Such a sadness. Solidifying itself everywhere its soft, cold hands could reach._

_A faint hiss that reverberated from their roots into ground pooled at his feet, and in discomfort he shifted onto a patch of moss that squelched in surprise under his boot, having never been stepped on all its life. The thin layer of velvet greenery served as a thin barrier between him and the sensation, but it didn't last long._

_In a dash of half-planned steps, he staggered towards whatever direction his legs struggled to pull his body in as an attempt to remove himself from the unwanted gloom that pitted itself in his stomach. Beaded mist clung to the contours of his face and he flinched at the sound of rustling behind him. He refused to look back. A childish thought arose that maybe the trees were now trying to pursue him to warn him of his fate, but he didn't want to hear it._

_Eventually he came to a stop. Hands clenched firmly at his side he stood purging, wisps of his breath puffing into the sky._

_It never occurred to him how oddly surreal things had become. In his refusal to accept what was reality, he had created and disfigured a new one, and now his sanity would pay the price. What was silence now buzzed with chatter. What was solitude now felt like a cramped suffocation. As he stood, the ever-moving world halted and turned to stare straight at him as if to say-_

_They know who you are. You cannot hide._

_His hands shook in response to the dampness going through deposition, his already chilled temperature dropping even further. Had he been like any other, hypothermia would have already had his life crushed in its icy fist days ago but no- his digits had not taken on the typical black hue of dying tissue, and his heart was still beating as strongly as ever, the cold not slowing it down a single beat._

_The arctic vapor trailing behind him wrapped his body in a final embrace before it dissipating, wafting slowly back to the sky. Without the shade of the fog concealing him, his body shimmered in a luster from the unnatural paleness that had taken over his complexion from which glowed under the case of ice that sealed it within- polished glass housing a luminescent being._

_Exposed to the incriminating eyes of the wood, he stood erect upon the same earth that had given him rise and was now ready to welcome him back to its dirt. Was he ready for that? He didn't know._

_At that moment there was a pause; a silence that even the chirp of an insect did not dare to disturb. His gaze shifted over the vicinity, ears perking when the rustle that had been made previously shook the air around him; orbs of amber dilating in a hyper-sensitive trance._

_A violent yell shook the serenity but could not snap him from his daze. It was muffled, but through the trees he heard people approaching, their heavy footsteps crunching over the leaves like a herd of frenzied animals. They seemed to be yelling, but one voice in particular barked the loudest, his cry stirring the crowed into maddened passion._

_"We know you're out here, spawn of evil! You should have stayed where you belong! Accept your only destiny!"_

_From a break in the clearing the mass poured in, quickly surrounding him. He wanted to run, but his legs remained firmly planted as they began to close in. Tightly grasped in their hands they bore torches and tools held high, a few in the front line bearing thick coils of tightly braided rope._

_Though exceeding in numbers and fervor high, they moved with neither arrogance nor disorganization, cautious of his every movement and not for a second breaking eye contact._

_A man in particular locked eyes with him in a dual of will; brow matted with a sheen of sweat from exertion of moving through the wood, a single dirty bead sliding down his temple and into the lower crevasse of a trembling teal eye. Over the man's broad cheek bone, the bead dripped fluidly down his narrow face until falling from his chin and pattering to the ground._

_He would have found amusement in the other's change in behavior; knowing the blue-eyed man's normally haughty attitude first-hand, but instead he smiled sadly. This fear was because of him._

_Because he was a-_

With a less than attractive gasp the albino sprung forward, knocking off a cushion he unconsciously had pulled over his chest for extra warmth. Floundering about for a moment he sighed in relief, as if waking from a nightmare and realizing it was just a dream.

Was it a nightmare that he had? The addled teen tried to remember, but nothing came back. Well it was just a dream and was probably nothing important; he didn't need another unknown to agonize over at the moment so he filed it away in the 'to do' pile of his mind. He'd get to it. Eventually. The scrap of work he however did have on his plate was trying to find out more about the stranger he had stumbled across the other day. Like the dream, Ichigo seemed to have a shroud of surreal mystery about him, but he hoped that sooner or later things would reveal themselves in time. Luckily, it was time he had the most of. Summer holiday ended on September fifteenth, and today was only the sixteenth of August.

Soft whining creaks against the wooden floor curved his attention. Sweeping his eyes over to glance at the lithe figure emerging from the hallway he greeted the older man, plucking the forgotten cushion off the floor and placing it back in its rightful perch.

"Uh, mornin' Jyuu. I thought you weren't supposed to get out of bed without Sentaro or Kiyone. Should you be walking around like that…?" His uncle as of late hasn't been in the best of health. As long as he had known the sickly man he has been exactly that- sickly. Clothes often draped over his body as if he were a child wearing his parents clothing. At times, the elder looked frail enough to shatter from the lightest touch. Over time, he grew so weak that it became strenuous to go out and do daily actions such as routine haircuts. Being the optimistic one, he let his naturally white hair grow into a long mane, saying with a smile, "I was just thinking about trying out a new hair style and I heard long was 'in' these days." That was just like his uncle, waving off his own illness just to dispel worry in others.

Predictably, Ukitake dismissed his nephews concern, covering his mouth with the back of his hand as he yawned.

"Ah…it's alright. I feel pretty good today, see?" He stretched to prove his point, flinching a little when a pop in his back alerted him that he may have pushed his stretching luck too far.

"A-ah… well anyway, what are you doing sleeping out here? You'll end up with back problems worse than mine sleeping on that old thing."

"Oh, well you see-"The albino began. The moment of truth, and so early in the morning too. He knew he had to talk about the issue concerning Ichigo some time with his uncle, but he was hoping it wouldn't had to have been until he formulated an intricate reason using convoluted logic and complex reasoning.

"Is it the mattress? I've been meaning to get it replaced. It's probably twice your age by now… last night I heard something odd so I went to take a look. When I passed your room I just happened to peek inside and saw it was all torn up. I knew it was old, but you should have told me if it had gotten in that poor of a state."

…Huh?

Leaping from the couch the teen dashed into the hallway and poked his head into the open doorway to his room. Just like his uncle had said, the single sheet he used as a blanket was tossed aside. In the thick upholstery, deep gashes puffed discolored foam like a festering wound. However most prominently, Ichigo was nowhere in sight.

"I, uh. " He fished for words but found none. Could Ichigo have left in the middle of the night without him knowing? Certainly he wasn't the lightest of sleepers, but no matter how quiet one tried to be, the sound of their front door closing was about equivalent to dropping a bowling ball on a ceramic centerpiece.

Suddenly, there was sound of a bowling ball dropping on a ceramic centerpiece. In the living area, his cousin clutched two large paper bags in his arms that nearly concealed the top of his head as he carried them into the kitchen- Ichigo en suit carrying two of his own. Heaving them onto the counter top, Toshiro turned and glowered.

"Well look who finally decided to join us today." This morning marked the first day following the Dormition of the Theotokos and their uncle had asked the two cousins to pick up a few groceries now that the fast was over. Of course when he had tried to rouse the albino, the other conveniently decided to act like a dead log. That's when the intruder had suddenly emerged as if he had sprouted from the floor or had dropped from the ceiling, offering to go in Shiro's stead.

The younger had been unsure about this 'Ichigo' character, but ultimately accepted the offer when further attempts to wake his cousin ended in further failure.

As they walked to the heart of town, he had tried discreetly interrogating the other. To say the least, he found Ichigo certainly matched much his cousin's claim. But what were the chances? The ginger-haired teen showed no sign of head injury, and people didn't just happen to contract amnesia. Something told the white –haired boy that somehow Ichigo was involved in something much deeper than his idiotic cousin initially thought.

To say the least, the other was… odd. Frequently, Ichigo would check behind them and then deny it when the younger asked about it. The peculiar behavior intensified once they had reached central market.

On this particular day, the plaza was almost completely packed with shoppers who came to restock the foods now readily available and with vendors with loads of their stock to sell to ready buyers.

Not even plugging ones nose could stop the onslaught of smells that assaulted the two teens, the most repugnant of combinations being what go together like, well, wine and cheese. Everything that could go wrong in a smell went wrong then- the heavy musk of rotten dairy hanging together with the sinus-burning waft of heavy drinks in their barrels, open to show passerby's the rich quality they had aged.

While the high sun did wonders illuminating the ruby liquid in seductive luxury, it did absolutely nothing for its partner's aroma quality. Toshiro was reluctant to even approach the counter to purchase a pound of Brânză de burduf for his father, who had hinted a craving for it.

Cheese, butter, and a gallon of milk later, he thanked and paid the clerk; grabbing Ichigo who seemed to have been preoccupied staring intently down into a flask of red wine.

On the other side, a girl around his cousin's age looked from Ichigo to her wares eagerly. He rolled his eyes and lightly nudged the orange-haired teen, hissing "You shouldn't do that, she'll think you're a customer. She can get in trouble for selling to someone under 18."

Nodding, he apologized and explained he had just been admiring the color.

For some reason she didn't seem put off, and instead, lit a shade close to the wine and rambled on how she didn't mind and to come again soon.

Neither planned to do so.

"Alright…" He began, shifting the bag in his arms more comfortably. "All we need now are three packs of chicken breasts, a package of ground beef, and two blood sausages. I'll go get the breasts and beef since they're close, so can you get the sausages?"

Ichigo nodded, accepting the money and placing it securely in his pocket.

Without Shiro's cousin to assist him through the large mass of people, it was difficult to navigate and find where to go, but suddenly a smell that trumped all others overwhelmed his senses.

It was boiling, stirring, pulsing, beating. The intoxicating aroma was everywhere yet only in one place. Its aromatic qualities caused him to grow a little light-headed, and following the trail distanced his mind even further from his body. His reason from instinct.

He moved, not even caring who or what he bumped into as he followed the red trail. It was getting stronger and stronger.

Thicker.

Closer.

And then it was there before him.

An old woman sat in front of her stall, stirring a large steel pot filled to the brim with the red. With each slow stir, the deep red substance sloshed side to side in tandem to her movements, coming close to the edge but never spilling. When she'd pause every five stirs, small clumps of clotted blood would sink slowly back down to the bottom only to be swept back up once she began again.

When she noticed him watching her, she wiped her forehead with the back of a dainty, wrinkled hand and smiled, "Hello there young man, my husband is in the back taking the sângerete out from the refrigerator."

She began to feel a little apprehensive when he did not answer and continued to stare, but pushed it aside. It was probably just an old woman's nerves getting to her again. Instead, she offered him a try at stirring the blood she would soon use to make more of her family's prized recipe.

"Would you… like a try? My old hands could use a break."

He nodded, accepting the long-handled spoon and imitating her movement precisely.

It was close, so close, and by his hands, the vermilion ambrosia stirred him into a gripping desire. It was practically suffocating him, and he couldn't take it. Setting the end of the spoon's handle down against the inside of the pot, mindful to do so at an angle so it wouldn't fall in, he looked into the woman's eyes whose had turned to him when he stopped.

Her sunken irises shook from the intensity, and when he leaned over to whisper something to her she could not help but to oblige.

Taking the spoon back up, he dipped its wide scoop into the substance and brought it to his lips.

"What are you… "

He paused, looking up at the younger of the cousins from over the meniscus of blood. Downing the rich, coppery liquid, he lay the spoon back into the pot and wiped any traces of the sticky fluid from the corners of his mouth, licking it off the tip of his thumb with a smile.

Toshiro's small features were contorted in shock, body trembling softly as he fought to relax them back to neutrality.

Had he been prompted to describe his exact thoughts on what he had seen, Toshiro would have crumpled the paper and given it back as such. There were no words he could think of. Disgusted would have been too strong, there were people elsewhere in the world who drank raw blood, and he did not find it utterly taboo. Surprised seemed close, he had never heard of any European country where its people would be so willing to drink raw animal blood. Disturbed may have been teetering on the line. Could he have been…

Afraid?

No, that seemed completely illogical. While Ichigo may seem unusual, he was nothing to fear- he was the one who got startled by a dialing tone. But still, the image seemed to have burnt itself in the darker part of his mind where ghouls and the Boogeyman used to roam when he was younger.

For now he would keep it to himself. There was no need to let such an occurrence get under his skin. He was just riling himself up and placing an irrational emotion on something that was out of his norm.

There was nothing dangerous about the stranger his cousin had brought back.

Right?


End file.
